


Don't Play Nice

by Pacificrey



Series: These Streets Are Paved With Blood and Gold [3]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF, Sideshow - Fandom
Genre: GTA AU, Gen, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-25 13:42:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15641916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pacificrey/pseuds/Pacificrey
Summary: Buck’s been gone for for too long, and when the rest of sideshow go looking for him, they get caught up in a scheme that’s been planned for a while. (This is literally based on one stupid idea I had while watching the Gmod Paranormal Video, so enjoy)





	Don't Play Nice

Criken was worried. Bed and Tomato huddled, entangled as much as they could be sitting in the car, both fast asleep. Criken looked at his phone again, hoping for a text from Buck. Hell, he’d take a carrier pigeon at this point, a smoke signal, a psychic message,  _ something.  _ It had been eight days since Buck went dark, eight days of Bed stalking up and down their safehouse, eight days of Tomato sleeplessly sweeping security footage trying to get a glimpse of their boy, eight days of Criken losing his mind. They didn’t know whether or not he was compromised, if he was dead, if he was okay. Sure, Buck had done this before: he goes deep undercover, they don’t see him a few days, and when they finally do, it takes the same amount of time to get him back. It definitely stresses Criken and the rest of the crew out, but Buck is too good at his job, and always insists on being sent back. But even then, he’s send them messages, even if it was just one text, just to let them know he was still on the job. 

 

Criken knew that they were jeopardizing Bucks position by staking themselves out outside of the club they had sent Buck into. But they didn’t even know if he was there anymore, if he was even alive.  _ Stop thinking like that,  _ Criken thought, taking a deep breath. He settled to listening to the sound of Bed and Tomato breathing quietly in the backseat, the streetlights flickering unevenly around their car, the bass of the club vibrating through the road. 

 

Criken checked his phone again. 3:15. It was dark still, the sun still hours away from rising. Criken groaned, hitting his head a little too roughly against the headrest, waking Bed. 

 

“The fuck dude,” Bed whispered, groggy with sleep, and eyes half open. Bed’s movement in turn wakes Tomato, which is much less gracious when disturbed. 

 

“Shit!” He yells, pushing Bed off of him and reaching down for his gun. 

 

“Chill,” Bed orders, and Tomato, realizing his haste, relaxes, but only a little. “What’s going on?” Bed asks, and Criken shrugs. 

 

“The same as the past 7 hours. Nothing.” Criken knows he sounds frustrated, and at this point he doesn't care. If Buck really is okay, he will have some serious explaining to do when they find him. As Tomato opens his mouth to say something, the doors of the club open, the music suddenly getting much louder as two men in black suits and sunglasses exit. They pause outside the doors as another man exits. Illuminated by the neon of the club, he’s shorter, but not by much, since his curly hair seems to add a few inches to his height. He’s wearing an expensive looking, probably silk shirt, unbuttoned a few from the top, under a black unbuttoned jacket and above a big belt buckle. He pulls off his sunglasses, and Bed has to restrain Tomato as he tries to open the door and run across the street. Criken stares, not believing his eyes. 

 

Buck. 

 

He’s not just alive. He looks like he’s doing well. Really well. He’s smiling, saying something unheard to one of the goons that opened the doors for him. He laughs, and Criken feels the same rage that is rolling off of Tomato in the backseat. If he was really this okay, why the fuck would he not contact them. They watch as he walked past the two men, down the sidewalk a bit, before pausing, and looking over at their car. Buck looks right at Criken smiles, and even across the street, Criken is horrified by how un-Buck the look is. Almost too much teeth, no emotion in his eyes. 

 

“Criken,” Tomato says, his voice tinged with the closest thing to fear Tomato has. Buck tilts his head motions slightly with his ring-clad hand, and the two men following begin to cross the street, walking towards the car. “Criken,” Tomato says again, his voice louder and more urgent. All three of them reach for their guns, but not before a knock at the passenger side window causes all of them to jump. Another man, identical to the two crossing the road waves in, gun in hand. 

 

“Come quietly, and I won’t have to break your pretty little heads in,” the man smiles, his voice dripping with a east coast accent. Criken glances back. Bed and Tomato are sitting in the backseat, guns trained on the two men standing at the windows. It’s three on three now, but Criken doesn’t know how many men Buck has hiding.  _ Fuck.  _

 

Criken raises his hands in surrender, placing the gun in the passenger seat. Bed and Tomato both look nervously at Criken before slowly doing the same. 

 

“Good, follow me, the boss would like to have a word.”  _ Boss?  _ Tomato mouths to Criken as they are escorted back to the club, the music echoing through the asphalt, shaking their bones. Buck stands, arms open at the entrance. 

 

“Boys,” He says, his voice low and heavily accented. “It’s ‘bout time you showed up.” 

___

 

_ Three days prior _

 

Buck held his phone in one hand, bouncing his leg up and down, sitting on the edge of his bed. It was less of a bed and more like a glorified blow-up mattress that had been put on some pallets to keep it off the ground. It took a lot to make Buck nervous, but for some reason, something was off about this job. He typed in Criken’s number, the one he knew by heart. He wanted to text him, tell him to pull the job, it wasn’t worth whatever information these guys had, or whatever deal they could stop. But he couldn’t.  _ Even if you don’t find out their agenda, find out about Mr. Davis,  _ Criken had briefed him, before handing him a new phone and a wad of cash. Buck had heard whispers of the comings of Mr. Davis, and nothing about their agenda. He had nothing besides a few names, faces, and bank accounts, so if they pulled him, they would not only lose their position in the group, they would gain nothing of real use.  

 

The door to the room Buck was in shook as someone knocked. Buck quickly erased the message. “Come in,” he announced as the man walked in, glancing from the phone up to Buck.

 

“Who you texting? Girlfriend?” The man asked. 

 

“Oh yeah,” Buck laughed, locking the phone, and putting it back in his pocket. “What’s going on?” Buck could see a disconcerting look flash on the man’s face. He paused. 

 

“Group meeting. Downstairs. 5 minutes.” Buck nodded, watching as the man turned and left, leaving the door open behind him. He let out a breath, his mind running a thousand miles an hour. Best case scenario, the meeting would discuss everything Buck needed. Worst case scenario, they knew exactly who Buck was, that he was  and was going to execute him in front of the entire group to make a statement. As he made his way downstairs, he prayed for option one. 

 

“Brent! Come sit here!” A girl’s voice calls out, and Buck was motioned down by two younger members, who sit opposite as people find their way into the “living room” of the house. 

 

“Do you know what this is about?” He asked, and the girl shrugged. 

 

“I heard rumors of some big announcement, but that’s it.” She pulled her leg up, sitting back in her chair. Buck swallowed hard, trying to make himself seem as not nervous as possible, make himself seem less guilty than he was. His head snapped to attention as the leader of the group, Jon, made his way into the room. He was what Buck would call ‘badass’ if he had seen him on the street. Leather jacket, slick hair, tattoos on every available piece of skin showing. Buck knew that people respected and feared him in this circle, and it wasn’t just for his image. He had seen him work, handling any gun with ease, negotiating, and when it came to it, fighting. If Buck didn’t know what kind of scumbag, back alley dealer the man was, he might have considered working for the guy.  _ Might.  _

 

“Alright,” Jon said, clapping his hands together. “Let’s settle in. We’ve got a lot to discuss.” Buck leans back, trying to act casual, but he’s shaking. Maybe he should have texted Criken, checked in. Jon starts talking, but Buck can’t listen. He’s almost vibrating at this point, before Jon’s words finally catch his ears. “...with someone here that is not who they say they are.” A pause. Buck freezes. Jon’s eyes are scanning the room.  _ Maybe he doesn’t know who it is. Maybe he just has some suspicions.  _ Buck’s life was hanging on those maybe’s, and he knew it. He had to do something, anything before they called him out. Then they would have the upper hand, and if he let it get to that…. _ don’t thing about that,  _ he said to himself, quickly trying to remember all the information Criken fed to him before. Buck cleared his throat, and all eyes in the room, turned to him. 

 

“You’re right,” He said, making his voice deep. “I’m not who I say I am.” Buck tries out a New York accent, feeling that’s the right choice for the role. “I’m not Brent.” He took a deep breath. “I’m Mr. Davis.” 

 

Twenty guns were immediately pulled on him, and Buck tries to remember anything that he had heard and learned about the mystery man. He knew that they had never seen or heard him, only receive texts. He was a big time mob boss from the east coast, from a family of mobsters, running drug and gun rings out in the west, and was apparently very good at his job. Everything else Buck had to make up, and pray to any god that these people didn’t know the real answer. So he merely smiles. He’s scared out of his mind at the moment, but Mr. Davis wouldn’t be. In fact, he would be savoring this moment. 

 

“How the fuck do we know that?” Jon says, and Buck notices fear laced into his words. He’s scared of this Davis. 

 

“Jon,” Buck coos, holding out his hands. “This is a hard life isn’t it? My family, we’ve done this for quite some time, so I can appreciate that you bring your own family into this as well,” Buck gestures to the girl he had been sitting with. Bed had told him that one.  _ If you see this girl, don’t mess with her, that’s the leader’s daughter.  _ Jon furled his eyebrows, but Buck could see the sweat dripping down his forehead. 

 

“What do you want,” he asked. 

 

“I wanted to make sure that my assets were running smoothly. I’ve been watching you for quite some time.” Buck looks around the room. “I wanted to see how business was out in here, how you treat outsiders.” He shook his head. “Have to say, a little disappointed.” He sees the guns slightly lower, and he inwardly breathes a sigh of relief. “Oh, and I want to catch the motherfuckers that stole my shit.” Tomato had got him that one.  _ This, Mr. Davis, he’s getting more and more involved. He keeps sending these weird cryptic emails that these guys try to delete, but I can still get. He’s looking for something. Or he’s lost something.  _ Buck just hopes that they’ll tell him what it is. 

 

Jon immediately lowers his gun. “Oh the, the supply run. Sir-” He begins talking faster. “We’re sorry, we didn’t mean to lose the truck, those fuckers were so fast they just came in and-” Buck held up his hand. 

 

“Which fuckers?” Jon took a deep breath. 

 

“Sideshow.” 

 

Buck wanted to laugh. Or cry.  _ Thanks for that little tidbit Criken, _ he thought.  _ Maybe he could make this work.  _

 

“Sideshow? Who is this? And why were they able to steal a truck armored to the teeth from under your noses?” 

 

“They’re crazy boss, there’s probably at least twenty of them. I don’t know how they do it. They all have codenames and shit. From what we could tell, the leader was this guy they call Criken.” Buck pretended to think it over, shaking his head. 

 

“And do you have any idea where this group is hiding out?” Buck asked, trying to see if they were compromised. 

 

Another voice answered, and Buck turned to look at the man Buck had learned was their ‘computer man.’ “No Mr. Davis, we’ve been trying. We have good tech guys but their guys must be better. We can never triangulate their location, and whenever we get close, it changes.” Buck would have to congratulate Tomato later. 

 

“I’ll get in touch with my people, and we’ll pay them a visit. For now, I need some new clothes.” Jon points to someone. 

 

“Bring him down to the club.” Jon says, and the man nods. 

 

They spend a good 45 minutes sorting through the lost and found, Buck laughing every time he pulls out a funny shirt. Finally, he settles on something that he thinks a east coast mob boss would wear: The cleanest blue button up he can find, and a pair of khakis, and they are able to leave. 

 

“Could I borrow your phone?” Buck asks, and the man hands it over without question. Buck can’t really call anyone, calling Criken would be too much of a liability at this point. So he opens the phone, presses a few numbers and steps away to make a fake phone call. He plays it up, yells a little, makes some threats, tries to make himself out to be the bad boss he’s portraying. Finally he pretends to hang up, and gives the phone back. “Thanks.” 

 

Buck spends three days living in his own Hell. He doesn’t know if anything he says is right, but he had to say it with the utmost authority, otherwise they’ll suspect something. On the plus side, they’ve given him more information in the past three days than he had gotten the whole rest of the time. They spill everything to him. Safehouses, places where they have bulk holds of guns, even things that he would never ask for. Personal secrets, family troubles, money issues. Buck’s Mr. Davis persona has become a beacon for everyone’s problems. 

 

It takes them three days to plan their raid on the Sideshow safehouse. Buck makes sure to slowly give out information, making it seem that his people are getting things slowly, not that he knows the place inside out. And Buck had made them buy him new clothes for the raid, things that didn’t smell like someone had died in them. It was the most expensive clothes he had ever worn, and he was genuinely excited about wearing it, to show his boys, to just see his boys, that he almost forgot why he was going to see them. Buck looked at the clock: 3:00 in the morning. 

 

“Boss,” A man leaned over to Buck. “Seems that there’s a few guys that have been sitting outside the club for quite some time. Want us to tell them off?” 

 

“I’ll deal with it. I need some air anyway,” He called out, and two of the men that Jon had assigned as security to ‘Mr. Davis’ stood up as well, leading Buck out the front door of the club. Buck stretched. “Nice night out isn’t it boys,” and they didn’t respond. “Tough crowd,” he laughed, walking down the sidewalk, catching a familiar silhouette out of the corner of his eye.  _ Son of a bitch, _ Buck muttered under his breath, now staring into the car across the street, and smiled.  _ Looks like we’re doing this now.  _

 

Buck ushers the three into the black SUV that pulls up, trying to say things with his eyes.  _ I’m sorry, I’ll explain all of this later.  _ As they get in the car, Buck calls Jon. He needs to make sure everyone shows up. 

 

“Hello. Change of plans. Meet me there.” He hangs up, and looks back at the three of them in the backseat. There’s a mix of confusion and fear mixed on each of their faces, but he can’t unsee the betrayal he saw as they walked across the street. He wanted to say sorry, wanted to hug them all and go back to the house and entangle themselves in bed. “I’ve been looking for you boys for a while you know that?” Is the only thing he says, as he turns himself back in his seat. “You’ve caused me a lot of trouble.” 

 

“What are you talking about, who are you?” There’s genuine malice in Bed’s voice that cuts Buck deep.  _ He’s mad at Mr. Davis, not you.  _

 

“You don’t know who I am? A shame really. Mr. Davis, at your service.” Buck says, and he hears Tomato laugh. There’s nothing funny in his tone however. 

 

“Don’t question the boss,” the driver of the car speaks up, and the three look over in surprise. The rest of the car ride is quiet, aside from Buck’s directions. 

 

Jon is already there when they pull in the driveway, and Buck walks up to him. 

 

“Did you already go inside?” 

 

“No,” Jon responds. “We were waiting for your order.” Buck smiles, glancing back at his crew getting out of the car behind him 

 

“Good.” They follow Buck inside, a crew of around 12 entering the small safehouse. Plans are strewn about, Tomato’s laptop is sitting on the counter. A mug of coffee is left cold from the pervious morning. It hurts Buck to be here like this. The men push Criken, Tomato and Bed in front of Buck. They stand awkwardly, and Jon’s crew forms a semi-circle around them. Jon takes a step forward, but Buck puts a hand up, holding him back.

 

“I’ll handle this.” Buck claps his hands together. “Sit.” He orders, and the three pull up chairs, slowly taking their seats, keeping their eyes trained on Buck. “Now, word on the street is, you boys got something of mine. You wouldn't be holding out on me would ya’?” Buck is pacing slowly in front of them. “Answer me!” He screams, making them jump. 

 

“Whatever it is, we don’t have it, okay?” Criken answers. Buck stops in front of Criken. Criken’s acting as well, Buck’s seen him do it a million times. The eyebrow tilt, the lip tremble. 

 

“That’s strange, because it seems that my boys here,” Buck gestures to the men behind him, “lost a truck-load of  _ my  _ supplies.” Buck leans in, putting his hands on the armrests of Criken's chair. “And they claim you took it.” Realization dawned on Criken’s face, and Buck then also realized something. Criken didn’t know the truck was for Mr. Davis. 

 

“It wasn’t us I swear!” Tomato yells out, desperation in his voice.  _ He does that too well,  _ Buck thinks as he pushes himself off Criken’s chair. Buck takes off his dress jacket, carefully laying handing it to one of the men surrounding him. In one fluid motion, he swings around, flinging a lamp of the table smashing it into the wall. Buck yells, swinging back, and papers fly from the table. 

 

“Boss…” Jon starts, and Buck interrupts him. 

 

“I’m cool, I’m cool.” He stops, chest heaving. Then pushes back Bed in his chair, slamming him to the ground and straddling his chest. Buck pulls out his gun and holds it up. 

 

“Do you know what’d I’d do for those drugs? Huh?” He fires a round into the ceiling, raining down plaster. Buck stands up, keeping eye contact with Bed. “I’m gonna look in the back, and if I don’t find my shit…” Buck trails off. Both Criken and Tomato start arguing. 

 

“We don’t have anything please, we don’t please, just leave us alone…” They’re both pleading, interrupting each other. Buck catches a glimpse of Bed, laying on the floor, a look of heartbreak on his face, before he opens the door to the back room. “Nobody leave.”

 

Buck pulls out drawers, pretending to be looking for something. And he is. Buck knows there’s a hidden compartment in the room, that Criken puts his guns. He never told Buck, but when you’re clumsy and just a little bit observant, you’ll hear the hollow of the wall when you trip over your own two feet.  _ There.  _ A notch in the floor. Buck lifts it up, and sure as anything, he’s got some guns. Now, for the next part. 

 

Buck slams the door back open. “There’s no drugs back here. Somebody’s gonna have to die.” 

 

He walks back over to Bed, lifting him of the ground and pushing him against the wall, holding the gun to his head. 

 

“No, no, no, please we have the drugs, they’re in the back! Please, I swear,” Bed pleads, his voice close to tears, his eyes closed tightly. Buck almost breaks down right there. Seeing Bed like that, knowing he was the one that caused it...it was too much. Buck snarled, dropping Bed and marched to the back room, looking around for anything solid. Shaking his head, Buck grabs the radio on the desk. He holds it up to Criken’s face, getting close enough to feel his breath. 

 

“Does. This. Look. Like. Drugs. To. You?” Buck spoke deliberately, quietly, spacing out his words to put emphasis on their meaning. Criken’s eyes weren’t fearful. They were horrified. Bed answered from his cowered position at the wall. 

 

“It’s not, it’s not.” He sounded like he was sobbing. Buck growled, grabbing Bed once again. 

 

“It’s not!” He dragged Bed into the back room, and slammed the door. 

 

As the door slammed, Buck began yelling, trying to make as much noise and chaos as possible. 

 

“The floor,” Buck said, as loud as he would dare, hoping no one in the other room could hear. “Open it.” Buck tipped over a dresser, yelling, “You want some more huh?” Bed dropped to his knees and began yelling too, prying at the floor. 

 

“Please, please, stop! I’ll-I’ll tell you, just don’t hurt anyone else!” Buck grabbed a drawer from the ground, throwing it at the wall. 

 

“Don’t tell me what to do! I’ll kill every one of you if that’s what it takes.” The floor opened, Bed pulled out the machine gun, and nodded. 

 

“Oh yeah, try me, you’ll never get you stuff without me?” Bed taunted, and Buck yearned for anything besides this. Buck raised his gun, and he watched Bed nod. 

 

“Watch me.” Buck responded and fired. Bed hit the ground, and Buck shut his eyes as he heard Criken and Tomato rush up to the door, only to be stopped by Jon’s men, pulling them back. 

 

“You bastard!” Tomato screamed, and Buck took a deep breath before opening the door, wiping his gun on the folds of his shirt. 

 

“Now, who’s next, or does anyone want to tell me where my shit is?” And with that, rapid gun fire broke out, dropping Jon’s men in a matter of moments. Criken and Tomato hit the ground as more gunfire rings out behind them. Within seconds it stops, and a familiar voice calls out. 

 

“Sorry to ruin the party guys, but I gotta say, it was getting a little heavy.” Criken and Tomato look to the back of the room where an alive Bed is standing, submachine gun in hand. And with that, Buck drops to the floor. 

 

Buck startles awake, his concerned crew crowded around him. 

 

“What, uh wha-” Buck tries to speak, but instead he starts crying. “I-I’m so sorry you guys,” he chokes out. “I wanted to tell you ab-” They cut him off. 

 

“Buck.” Criken says, his hand gently placed on Buck’s arm. “We are just glad that you’re alive.” He pauses. “You are okay?” Buck nods, and looks around at the carnage on the floor. 

 

“Are you okay?” He asks back, his voice cracking, not use to its normal tone. 

 

“Yeah, even if you did threaten to kill us.” Tomato says, and Bed shoots him a look. “What? It’s true.”

 

“Yeah, but it was super cool, wasn’t it Tomato?” Bed asked, nudging Tomato’s arm. “Wasn’t it?” Tomato starts to say something but Buck stops him. 

 

“I just wanted to see you guys.” Buck whispers, and Criken lets out an aww before they wrap him in a human blanket, arms and legs intertwined. Buck opens his eyes. 

 

“Guys? Do you think that we should clean up?”


End file.
